


no more alone or myself could I be

by groundedsaucer (coasterchild)



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Clones, Established Relationship, F/M, Other, Sex as Therapy, There are two Eriks, Threesome - F/M/M, You Decide, a subtle crossover with The Prestige?, and one Christine, duplication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24499771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coasterchild/pseuds/groundedsaucer
Summary: In which there is a mishap resulting in two (2) Eriks.
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Erik/Christine/Erik
Comments: 15
Kudos: 45





	no more alone or myself could I be

**Author's Note:**

> Proper nouns and pronouns might get a little confusing in this one, folks. If we're talking about our POV phantom he'll be called "Erik", while his double is referred to as "the other Erik". Remember that and you should be okay. 
> 
> Like the tags say, this Erik/Christine is an established relationship. If you're curious about _how_ they established it, I've got a fic for that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134092/chapters/58107508 . This fic isn't really a sequel to that, but it's not NOT a sequel, y'know?
> 
> Anyway, I've done the math and this is approximately 10% absurd premise, 20% character study and 70% porn by volume. So uh, enjoy!

The sight before him was almost enough of a distraction for Erik to forget the truly singular situation in which he found himself. 

Christine, in a chair a few feet away, sat astride--well, him. He was Erik, down to the smallest detail, to the most insignificant memory and mannerism. 

And as Erik watched his double caress Christine-- _his_ Christine--he felt a conflicted stirring in his groin. 

\---

Earlier in the week, Erik had met with a man of science, one he’d read about and with whom he’d started a correspondence. The man had brought a prototype of sorts from his facilities in America, in hopes that Erik might have some insights to make it work. The device, if fully operable, would revolutionize production, even end starvation, poverty! The applications were endless, and the project fascinated him. 

It was in that thrall of fascination that the accident occurred, and when the crackling of electricity subsided Erik found himself staring back at his double. The second Erik, for his part, felt as though he had simply blinked in one part of the room and opened his eyes in another. As far as they or their scientist friend could tell, he was a perfect replica. It was beyond unnerving.

After all manner of study and measurement and careful experimentation, it was decided that there was nothing more to be done before a night’s rest, and so their trio retired--the scientist to his rooms in an uptown hotel, and the Eriks to their home. To Christine.

She reacted as well as could be expected. She was shocked, perhaps horrified, but she did not faint. She studied each of them, visibly upset until she could not look at all. Neither Erik could find words to console her, and so each felt doubly useless. 

By the second day the three of them managed a kind of uneasy peace. The situation was odd, but refusing to confront it wasn’t going to solve anything. The three of them returned to the scientist and his vexing machine. They were told that he was working to reverse the effects, but would need new materials, and so he set out, leaving them to spend the week dancing around one another.

When they returned home, Erik--the original, as he thought of himself, although he wondered if the other didn’t feel the same--retired to the study. He found himself agitated in the presence of his double, and he detested the thought of his agitation spilling over into anger. It would upset Christine, and--maddeningly--likely only stoke the same in his other self. 

In the late afternoon, Christine went to him.

“You know, he’s still wearing his mask, too.”

Erik turned to her. “I suppose it makes sense that we would have the same inclination.”

She leaned against his desk, brushed her fingers over his knuckles. “That’s true, but I wonder why it’s your inclination in the first place. Surely you don’t need to hide your faces from one another.”

His brow furrowed. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, but the thought of looking at himself, looking in a mirror with a mind of its own, and seeing his own twisted features reflected back at him was...repulsive. With the masks, neither of them would have to confront that particular discomfort, which seemed better for everyone. “I doubt he wants to see my face any more than I wish to see his. It’s a courtesy.”

Christine frowned at that. She traced a hand down the side of his mask, so light he hardly felt it.

She was unhappy, and Erik detested being the cause. “I trust we’ll rectify the situation in due time. It stands to reason that something done by science may be undone again,” he said, by way of reassurance. 

“And what if it can’t?”

The thought made Erik shudder. He did not know what that future held. Would the double live in the house with them? Did Erik have any more claim to it than he did?

Would it make a difference to Christine who left, if it came to that?

“I don’t know,” he said, and reached out, wrapping one hand around her waist, something solid to steady his reeling mind.

\---

It was after two more days of this awkwardness that Christine finally gathered the three of them into the same room. 

Erik stood off to one side, an arm draped--posessively?--over the organ. His other self took up a post standing behind a large chair. They were making an attempt at nonchalance, but both of them had the air of a skittish cat about them, looking for the slightest excuse to flee to whichever room in the house they had laid claim to. 

Christine sat on one end of the couch. “I understand this is strange for you both, but we should discuss what happens if…” If there is no reversal, she didn’t need to say.

The other Erik spoke first. “One of us would need to leave.”

Christine looked to both of them, worry bringing her eyebrows together. “Why?” she asked.

Erik, nodding to himself, responded this time. “It’s too difficult. I--we cannot coexist like this.” The other Erik looked pained, but nodded in agreement. 

Erik continued, “I fear if we are made to occupy the same space, share the same things, the same--” his eyes darted to Christine, and then back to the floor, “--I fear we will drive each other mad with frustration, or jealousy.” 

“It’s true,” said the other Erik. “I am--we are no stranger to horrors, but this is a cruelty I could not have foreseen. It is grotesque.”

“You are so put off by one another?”

“Yes,” both Eriks said in unison. 

“Surely each of you can understand the other like no one else? Is that not some comfort to you?”

“It is painful,” Erik said, “to look into a face and know that it sees all the darkness in your heart. All the weakness, the ignorance, the failures.”

Christine went to him, smoothed her hands over the front of his jacket. “And you cannot forgive what you see in him.”

“Please, do not ask me to.”

She studied his face for a moment, and in that time he felt as though he were the only Erik, like it was _him_ she believed in, and the thought made him feel petty, for all the comfort it gave him.

“All right,” she said, and drew back. “I won’t ask.”

She crossed the room to the other Erik where he stood by the chair, and she took his face in her hands, pulling him, startled though he was, into a deep kiss.

Erik stared, utterly dumbfounded for several seconds, and in that time the other Erik broke the kiss, panting as he held Christine’s shoulders. He sputtered “What are you--” eyes flickering desperately between the woman in front of him and his mirror image watching at a distance. 

She tugged at him, and he followed her obediently around the chair until she pushed him to sit in it. He did, and she followed, straddling his lap and leaning in to speak into his ear, although she was loud enough for Erik to hear from across the room.

“I’m demonstrating for him,” she looked directly at Erik as her lips grazed other-Erik’s cheek, “that you’re not quite as intolerable as he seems to think.”

Erik took a few stilted steps toward the pair. He wanted to object, to say _something_ , but instead he gripped the back of the sofa helplessly and leaned forward. 

“You don’t have to stay, but I hope you will,” Christine said to him, and then she turned to the one before her. “And I assume you don’t object?” The other Erik shook his head, his hands, trembling, beginning to move lightly up her thighs. Of course he didn’t object. There was hardly anything Erik wouldn’t agree to with Christine over him, her hips hovering so close to his, their skin trading sparks of sensation with each touch. 

Erik, slightly more clear-headed, found his words. “I don’t know if this is wise, Christine,” he said, although his resolve weakened as she sighed, leaning into the other Erik’s touch.

“What I know is that none of us are experts in this particular predicament, and I, for one,” her thumb traced the other Erik’s jawline, but she spoke to both of them, “hope the two of you can come to some kind of peace so long as it’s necessary.”

She slipped the other Erik’s mask off in one motion, and he hardly skipped a beat, only kissed her as she leaned in. Erik, watching, gasped despite himself. Something tightened in his chest, seeing his deformity like this. There was shame, but through it ran a vein of fascination at seeing it outside of a reflection, seeing Christine’s hand passing over it with the same care and affection it did the rest of him. There was a part of him that wanted to pull Christine off of him, a part that burned at the sight of hungry hands on her, but--the hands were his. The other Erik felt just as comfortable--just as whole--in her arms as he did, and it seemed Christine felt the same. 

So, instead of voicing more objections, instead of trying to intervene, Erik stood and watched. 

Christine began working at the stays of her dress, unlacing and opening until she could climb out of it. She stood in her undergarments and beckoned the other Erik to stand, tugging at his shirt collar, nodding for him to take it off. As he opened the buttons, Christine went to the couch and laid upon it, the curves of her body only hinted under the volume of her chemise. She looked up at Erik where he watched, now directly over her. 

There was desire in her eyes, a heat that Erik recognized immediately. Her thighs parted, and the other Erik, now shirtless, came down to rest between them as though it was where he belonged.

Christine made needy little sounds as he touched her, her body rising to meet his, and Erik looked on, feeling color rise in his cheeks. The sight was unlike anything, his angel writhing under the hands of a man who was, and wasn’t, him. The sensation of observing a thing he’d only ever known intimately, or--often--only in his mind. This was something between the two, like a tease, but he could not will himself to look away.

Lifting the hem of her chemise, Christine revealed the planes of her stomach, and the other Erik wasted no time moving down her body. His hands and mouth made a winding path to her hips, which Christine lifted encouragingly. His face hovered between her thighs, hesitating finally in light of the circumstances. 

Christine reached out to Erik’s forearm where it braced against the back of the couch. She looked up at him, the want clear on her face. He felt frozen, her grip a searing heat cutting through. Looking down at her, at them, he nodded.

“ _Please_ ,” she said, and the other Erik lowered his head. Christine sighed, her head falling back, but her hand stayed clasped around Erik’s arm, holding him there. He watched as the other Erik tasted her, moved his tongue against her just as he would. Christine for her part was drunk on the sensation of it, and Erik had never seen her face so clearly during this particular act. It was teetering just on the edge of ecstasy, abandon. It was beautiful.

She always was, but this was-- “Oh, Christine--” the sound left his throat before Erik realized he’d spoken. Her eyes opened, heavy lidded and gazing at him. She pulled his hand down to her mouth and kissed it, moaned into his skin as the other Erik increased his tempo. 

She held onto him as the sensation overwhelmed her, crashing over her in waves. “Erik!” she cried, as he watched her through it all.

Falling limp against the cushions, Christine’s chest rose and fell as she recovered. She released Erik’s hand and reached out to the other Erik, bidding him to make his way back up her body. His face was slick from the work he’d done, and Christine cupped it, pulling him in for a hungry kiss. 

When they parted, Christine put a hand on his chest and slid out from under him. She shifted to kneel on the cushions, putting her at the level of Erik’s chest where he stood. She pulled him down by his collar and kissed him too. The taste of her own sex on her lips was intoxicating, and once again Erik nearly found himself forgetting how it had gotten there. 

“I think we should take this to the bedroom, don’t you?” This was addressed to both of them, and Christine stood to make her way there, not looking back.

The Eriks regarded each other a moment. The other Erik looked almost sheepish, disheveled and sex-drunk as he was, while Erik felt in himself a sort of tension that might bring an instrument into tune, or might snap the string altogether. Silently, they both seemed to reach the same conclusion, and made their way to follow Christine. They both knew the same truth: if there was anyone who might see them through this, it was her.

When they entered they were greeted by a Christine who had removed her chemise while they deliberated. She stood naked by the bed, a hand wrapped around one of the posts as she waited. She approached Erik this time, as the other looked on. Peeling off his jacket and opening his shirt, Christine said to him, “Now I think he might need a lesson. Don’t you agree?” 

Erik did not have it in himself to offer a proper response, but he let himself be guided by her regardless. She pushed him onto the bed and began opening his trousers. The other Erik looked on, seemingly as dumbfounded as Erik had been in the same position. His eyes focused on Christine as she crouched over Erik, pulling his trousers down and exposing him--half-hard and growing more-so--to the room. She took the length in her hand, lightly at first, caressing it to its full height. 

Erik felt as though he were on display, albeit for an audience of one. It was not a feeling he associated with any pleasant memories, but at this moment it only served to ratchet that tension he felt up another octave.

Christine looked down, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Her eyes met his for an instant, and she reached out, as though as an afterthought, and pulled the mask off his face. The other Erik stiffened, gripping the bed post with a tighter fist, but again the two of them were too struck by the sights before them to object. 

Satisfied, Christine lowered her head. Her mouth enveloped him, and--on display or not--Erik let out a deep groan, his head falling back against the blankets. In such a state Erik could not bring himself to care who might be watching, so singular was his focus on Christine--his perfect, angelic Christine--and the movements of her tongue, her lips, her hands, against his flesh.

He raised his head up when she pulled him from her mouth and shifted, her hand continuing an echo of her previous rhythm on his length. She looked at the other Erik, then behind her to the space where her backside rose from the arch of her back. “Take me,” she said, and opened her legs just enough that he might be enticed--as if he would need it--her knees sliding over the blankets. 

Erik felt the slightest panic flare in the back of his mind. Surely _this_ was too much, too strange, both of them having her in this way, but as the other Erik began unbuttoning his trousers Christine’s mouth once again enveloped him, and Erik’s thoughts to object were drowned out with it. 

As her tongue traveled over his sensitive flesh, the other Erik took his position behind her. Erik didn’t have to see to know what happened. He knew the other Erik would reach out, let his fingers graze over the delicate flesh of her sex. He would spread her slickness around, and the sounds Christine made against his length confirmed he was doing just that. He would take himself in hand, guiding to her entrance. He would slick the head, and press gently until she moved back against him, silently pleading, and he would enter her, the heat and the pressure overwhelming the both of them for a blissful moment. 

Christine cried out, her fingers clawing at Erik’s thighs as the other Erik thrust into her. Again Erik was struck by seeing her undone, the pleasure on her face caused by _him_ in this detached way. Her mouth slid smooth and quick over his length, her hand gripping him tightly and following suit. The other Erik increased his pace, and so did she, the three of them panting and moaning and grasping at each other.

It was Erik, helpless against Christine’s beautiful mouth, who succumbed first. He gasped out a warning for her, and she let his release spill onto his stomach. The other Erik faltered, leaning forward and pressing his chest to her back. “Oh, Christine,” he breathed against her skin. 

Christine reached behind her, grasping his arm or perhaps his hip, Erik couldn’t be sure from his view. The other Erik stilled, and Christine shifted so that she was straddling Erik’s hips, their faces level. She looked back to the other Erik. “Don’t stop,” she said, and he pressed himself flush against her once more, sliding into her like it was the only place for him to be. 

She kissed Erik then, her lips jostled against his by the motions of the other Erik’s hips. She took his hand and guided it between her legs, and he pressed his fingers against her, catching her moan with his mouth. He drew tight circles in her folds, complimenting the tempo he felt from the other Erik’s thrusts. Soon Christine was lost in the feeling of it, her eyes screwed shut and her mouth open. Her head fell against his shoulder, muffling her cry as her climax took her. The other Erik rocked gently in and out of her through the last waves of it until the spasms of her pleasure gave way to a satiated limpness. 

When she had mostly recovered, the other Erik increased his pace again, and the breathy moans she made against Erik’s neck were a sweeter sound to his ears than any aria he might compose. It wasn’t long before the other Erik followed both of them over the edge. He spilled his release onto her back, groaning as he managed--only barely by the looks of it--to not collapse on top of them. 

Once he’d caught his breath, the other Erik stood and opened a drawer, pulling out two handkerchiefs. He used one to wipe the mess from Christine’s back, and then he held out the other to Erik. The two of them locked eyes. It was uncomfortable, it was disquieting, but it wasn’t _painful_ as it had been.

Christine moved until she lay in the middle of the bed, gesturing for both of the Eriks--both of _her_ Eriks--to join her, and they each took their place at her side, loose-limbed and--for the moment at least--untroubled.

\---

The following week, their scientist friend returned, having acquired the materials necessary to reverse the effects of the accident. After extensive testing, it was decided it was safe enough for the Eriks to try their luck. It worked without incident, and the one Erik who emerged found his memories of the previous week an overlapping sort of double-vision in his mind. It was disorienting at times as he tried to remember which Erik he had been during different interactions, but he found himself, in private moments, thinking back to being both over Christine and under her. Of pleasuring and being pleasured, witnessing and being witnessed. Those memories, fraught though they were, were perhaps the only things from that ordeal that he--again, in _private_ moments--could say that he almost missed.


End file.
